


In Dreams

by turnedherbrain



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, F/F, Love, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/pseuds/turnedherbrain
Summary: Frustrated by the mundane reality of Halifax society, Anne Lister dreams of what she really wants to happen coming true.Set early in s1, so no spoilers I hope.





	In Dreams

Tap tap tap tap tap tap GRIND

went Anne’s cane as she traversed the final furlong of the moor end road after another trip to Miss Walker’s. Not that she was frustrated, you understand. Not at all. Not in the slightest! But to come from Paris and the sensual delights of Europe, to this? It was… an adjustment.

An adjustment to the laboursome constraints of Halifax civil society: family obligations, tea parties and _‘care for another tart, vicar?’_ conversations. It simply wasn’t her. She longed for something; _someone_. She diverted her energy into other pursuits: the tenants, the foray into mining… they all occupied her mind. But it wasn’t quite enough. One name; one delightful face would intrude upon her thoughts daily… hourly. Although she might appear carved in stone: she was a woman, with a woman’s wishes and desires.

Anne entered the family home, tossed her hat into the far corner of the study and went to her desk, writing in her sloping hand what she had not dared say in front of the girl: an unmasked flower that bloomed still-shaded before her. Words upon words she transcribed, all in code; all secret and unseen.

Later, she lay upon her bed, an unusual torpor overcoming her. Her mind began a song: _Ann Ann Ann Ann Ann Ann_

‘Are you coming down to dinner?’ Her sister’s strident voice, cutting through the chord.

 _Ann Ann Ann Ann Ann Ann_ lilted the lyric in her head, softly lulling.

‘Are you coming to dinner, or not? Because I need to let the…’

_Shhhh shhhhhhhh shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_

Then she slept.

…

The dreamscape is different. Subtly different, but enough for her to know she is dreaming. Colours, sounds. Happenings.

She is in Ann Walker’s bedroom, the fire low in the grate, a shadow echoing around the walls leaving gentle licks of flame on the patterned paper. Ann is talking to her about sketching, her timbre carrying an enthusiastic note. She is trying to take notice of what the beauty is saying… but her lips, her lips! Her lips moving and softly opening, closing, opening… _Ahhhhhh_

This is a dream. Anything is possible here.

She moves closer, leaves a gentle imprint on those lips which doesn’t shock the girl, but leaves her dizzy for more kisses and she hungrily takes back the kiss, soft lips tasting like cherries in the summer garden, ripe and sweet. Kiss. Kiss. Kisses long and soft soft sweet until they fall together on the carpet giggling, Ann’s skirts lifted and the drowsy heat from the fire’s embers warming their limbs as she runs her slender fingers down the maid’s bodice feeling her breasts jutting up under the fine-boned corset.

Wordlessly, she unties the girl, freeing her from the restricting binds, slipping hands under the bodice and breath catching as she circles tender nipples. Ann’s eyes close; her breathing becoming shallow and pleasured. Kiss, kiss, kiss. Fingers exploring under Ann’s skirts, feeling the heat of her thighs and legs parted wide and trembling in instinctive anticipation as she feels the wetness and a distinct moan as she finds exactly where to make her experience the most intense pleasure.

She watches Ann’s face: the quickening breath, the ‘o’ of her pink, parted lips, the head tipped back more and more and more… and then she succumbs, her eyes fluttering open wide and gasping in first-time delight.

Afterwards, even in the dream, her lover clings on:

_‘Don’t leave me? Please – don’t leave me.’_

_‘I won’t.’_

_‘Ever?’_

_‘Never.’_

…

Anne woke pre-dawn in a hot entanglement of blankets, cuddled close to a duck-down pillow. She was confused; confused and elated and subdued, a mixture of emotions quite alien to her. She didn’t wait for breakfast – when did she ever? Instead, she pulled on yesterday’s garments, smoothed down her still-dressed hair and walked out of the Hall towards the glowering hilltops. Taking her cane, she lashed out at the moorland grasses and purplish heather, crushing the gorse as she stepped carelessly off the path.

She strode onwards, not stopping until she’d reached the topmost point of Mount Tabor. ‘The girl has undone me quite!’ she shouted breathlessly into the whiplash wind. She felt like Heathcliff, dashing his head against the trunk of the tree, calling out for Cathy and cursing her name in the self-same moment.

No. None of this. There was no time for self-indulgent despondence. She wouldn’t be bettered by a tantalising dream; nor by the reflections of glittering desires. She could coax this dream into reality.

Turning to the reader, Anne gazed out from the screen, and looked directly at you. ‘I do believe I am in love with this girl. And I will conquer love. I _will_.’

And she strode off, with you in tow.

**Author's Note:**

> • I’m currently up to s1 e6 – watching on the good old Beeb – and am absolutely fascinated by Anne Lister (like many of the women she encounters in the series!)  
> • I’m also a Northern lass, originally from Yorkshire where the series is filmed, so wanted to make more of the countryside setting, as the wildness/bleakness of the hills around there is appropriate for this love story, I think.  
> • The Heathcliff / Cathy reference is to the famous tragic pair from ‘Wuthering Heights’. Haworth, where Emily Bronte (author of ‘Wuthering Heights’) lived, is just up the road from Halifax.


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